


Second Half

by ImpOfPerversity



Series: Devastation-verse [19]
Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-21
Updated: 2004-11-21
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity





	Second Half

Even if he'd been whole this would never have been enough, for Jack would've had to somehow push his whole body into Sparrow's laval, gasping heat before he could feel wholly satisfied; but the stretch, the delicious tightness around the base of his aching cock where his finger pushed eagerly in beside it, the pleasurable painful squeeze of Jack Sparrow's arse around this dual invasion, was sufficient to drive Jack very quickly to a plateau of mindless ecstatic need, rocking against and into, into (though not _enough_ into) the agile, muscle-wrapped body that rocked back so very keenly against him; his yard, or half-yard, was full to bursting, and though the sensation was as cruelly curtailed as the member, yet he could phant'sy how it might have felt to plunge himself, whole, into this incredible slick tight furnace, pulsing with Jack Sparrow's heartbeat (how Jack loved Sparrow's heart for pumping blood around that body, keeping it vital and unpredictable and deliciously _Sparrow_ , powering that wicked mind and teasing mouth, driving Jack Sparrow's five senses to demand all their sustenance, oh grand and lovely honour, from Jack Shaftoe) as Sparrow's body twisted and writhed and opened itself just for Jack, as Sparrow raved and babbled about the sheer amazing fact of having Jack inside him, this the first time but not the last, this the experiment that was proving almost Jack's undoing -- for how, knowing this delirious joy that lay so close in Sparrow's body, could he ever draw himself out of it again? -- even while he did, and did as well as e'er he could, the thing, the _fucking_ , which Jack Sparrow was demanding, in word and gesture and motion and with every part of himself, nothing held back, from Jack; though he could not drive himself deep enough, yet he could touch Sparrow _there_ with that cramping, crooking finger, and make him contort and ripple around those parts of Jack's body that were penetrating him; and meanwhile, he could fuck Jack Sparrow as though he were whole, as though his yard had not been beheaded, so to speak, by that butcher-barber in Dunkirk; fuck him as he'd used to fuck girls, though there had never been a girl who could take him and grip him so tight, so hot, so strong -- and never mind _Jack's_ not wanting to withdraw, save to plunge back in harder than before; would Sparrow's body ever let him go? -- and feel the rub of his own shaft against his knuckle; it was very nearly too tight, and for a moment Jack, come briefly and transitorily to his senses, wondered if he was hurting Sparrow: but no, there was no pain in that lucent gaze, only pleasure, and Jack Sparrow's cock (enviable organ!) was dark and rigid against his belly, shiny with that clear fluid that welled from the head of it, and Jack longed to taste it and to feel its warm weight against his tongue, but that must wait, for he could no more stop fucking Jack Sparrow than he could have stopped his heart beating; and added to the intensity of the sensation, Sparrow's flesh encompassing him in its lewd and uncompromising embrace, was the intentness of Sparrow's gaze, the realisation that he was everything in Jack Sparrow's world at this moment, that the lap of water against the hull, the sway of the cot, the creaking of the chains had all fallen away into some outer void to leave Jack Shaftoe sole owner of everything that Sparrow thought, or felt, or perceived: Sparrow was moaning now, and sometimes words were mingled in: "Oh Jack oh please Jack there, oh there, oh Christ I, I never, Jack ..." and Sparrow's hand was reaching blindly for his neglected cock, and Jack wanted that too but had no hand free (one braced against, and in, Jack Sparrow's arse, one supporting his weight); but _that_ was easily remedied, and he rocked himself back, not leaving Sparrow's body so that the other must perforce follow, until he was sitting on his heels in the wildly-swinging cot, Sparrow half atop him and draped over him, and Jack could bring his free hand to Sparrow's desperate cock and stroke him, hard and slow, just out of time with the steady thrust of his own hips against and into Sparrow, and that out of time in turn with the wriggling of his finger deep within; and now Sparrow's mouth was on Jack's, kissing him frantically, so that Jack could taste the glorious golden glow that was Jack Sparrow, all rum and salty-bitter seed and slick metallic burn, and the soft hum of his moans as Jack gave him all and everything; he could smell the heady scent of Sparrow's sweat, and the seed they had both spent half a lifetime ago, earlier that evening, when Sparrow had (the thought made Jack's cock swell more, as though his heart still thought him whole and was directing a whole yard's-worth of blood to what remained) been fucking Jack, and the musky smell of Sparrow's tangled hair; he stopped kissing Jack Sparrow for a moment, pulling back until their lips no longer met, only so that he could hear the delightful, urgent obscenities and implorations that spilled from Sparrow's mouth, amid moans and gasps and the wet, rhythmic, mouth-watering sounds of his half-cock pumping in and out of Sparrow's arse, a noise that made Jack moan, on a different note, and capture that inventive, adoring mouth again; it was difficult, kissing Jack Sparrow, to keep his eyes open and perceive him in such glory, but Jack forced himself to watch as Sparrow came slowly and surely apart under his hands and mouth and cock, as Sparrow's face twisted and grimaced with bliss, as his eyes, unfocussing, stared into Jack's own, and the muscles in his stomach tautened and quivered as he thrust himself further onto the irresistable combination of finger and half-penis; at the sweet curve (Jack wanted to taste it) of his throat and shoulder as he arched against Jack's relentless motion, pumping his cock into Jack's encircling hand as he fucked himself on Jack; Jack could feel Sparrow loosening around him, adjusting to the stretch, and he pulled out that single finger (Sparrow wailed) and pushed two in, and swore at the sudden spasmodic clench around him as Sparrow, mazy-eyed, groaned low and loud, bit at his shoulder and spread his thighs wider to take it all, and his cock leapt in Jack's hand (inciting _Jack's_ cock, by example, to do the same invisibly within Jack Sparrow's body) and then, as Jack's exploring fingers rubbed against that place inside, Sparrow stiffened suddenly against him, and hot white seed gouted over his hand; god, Jack envied that, wanted it, but though he could not have it, 'twas wonderful that he'd sparked it in Sparrow; and then, as he brought his semenacious hand up to their close mouths for a shared taste, he found himself quite abruptly crying out and pouring out, out, deep into Jack Sparrow.


End file.
